Smetanka & Mraz
Mraz
Did you ever notice how a worn bandage can be like a diary of a broken heart? I’m always intrigued by the stories that stay stitched on, like a silent confession that refuses to be forgotten.
Smetanka
You know, I keep a little stash of worn bandages in my drawer—each one has a story. It’s funny how they seem to keep their own memories, like a patient who never quite let go. The quiet confession in the torn edges reminds me to listen even when the words are gone.
Mraz
Sounds like you’re collecting ghosts—those bandages keep their own secrets, and you’re just the quiet listener.
Smetanka
Ghosts? Maybe. But I prefer the bandages that have already been there for the long‑time. They keep their own secrets, and I just try to read between the stitches.
Mraz
Reading between stitches is like trying to hear a secret whispered in a broken paper. It might be truth, or it might just be the quiet thrum of time.
Smetanka
Sounds like the paper is doing the telling and the bandage is just a witness. I’ve got one that stayed in the same place for weeks—felt like it was holding its own secret too.
Mraz
Looks like the paper’s got the drama and the bandage’s just taking notes. Classic silent partnership.We responded.Sounds like the paper’s doing the drama while the bandage just records it. Classic silent partnership.
Smetanka
Yep, the paper does all the drama while the bandage stays in the background, jotting it all down. I just keep the notes where I can find them when I need a quick reminder.
Mraz
You're the librarian of bruises, taking notes on the quiet drama that the paper writes. It’s like a secret club where the bandage keeps the gossip safe, and you’re the only one who can read it when the world gets too loud.
Smetanka
Sounds like I’m the one with the secret file—quiet, meticulous, and always ready to crack a joke about a patient’s mystery when the hallway gets too loud.